Strawberry Coffee Beans
by Silver Renagade
Summary: An AU DADR fic where Dwicky's a high school councilor and Dib's a angsty teen. In high school. I wish I had a better summary. D:[DADR]Everyone in this fic belongs respectivly to Jhonen Vasquez and should remain as such. No matter how much I want them. 3
1. Chapter 1

Dwicky swallowed thickly, the chocolate milk coolly sliding down his heated throat. It hadn't been very smart to wander in the rain like that, but it was the only thing that didn't send his mind reeling with memories. Memories of him.

The drink became bitter as his image came to view. Yes, that familiar pale skin, lazy eyes and slick black hair. Belted black boots clacked on linoleum as the figure approached.  
A bowl of stale jellybeans sat solemnly beside a light blue astray which was occupied by numerous cigarette butts. He tried not to smoke around the students.

"Hand me a smoke," a lazy voice demanded, accompanied by a pale hand lying palm up on the worn oak desk. Dwicky placed the desired item in the soft hand while lighting his own. "Thanks."

The teenager plopped down in the chair across from him, his jet black trench coat billowing around him momentarily until it settled lazily on the floor. Amber eyes behind thick rimmed glasses wandered over the cracked and peeling lavender paint on the walls of the small room.

"Aren't you going to tell me how bad smoking is for me…?" the boy asked after ten minutes of jellybeans, smoking and silence. Dwicky gave him a half-lidded side glance before blankly staring at a particularly large crack in the wall.

"Won't you just tell me how you don't care?" came Dwicky's good humored response. Many of their sessions went like this. Smoking, staring, light chit-chat, stale jellybeans…the only difference there had been as of late was the sadistic visions that tormented Dwicky. A small 'heh' escaped the boy's thin lips.

"I s'ppose…" He was supposed to be counseling the boy, but the teenager rarely let anyone in. The small conversation they just had was, in itself, an improvement. Nothing about the teenager's image said 'talk to me, I'll care.' The thought brought a small smirk to the man's weary face, the goatee he wore animated for all of a few seconds.

Amber eyes settled on worn wood; the red tint of the oak was dim and lacked luster. The cracked glass of the ashtray reflected his empty stare and he quickly averted his gaze to the closed dusty blinds. Sunlight gently sifted through the slits, illuminating the heavy smoke as it became stagnate in the already stale air. The teenager could not stand these 'sessions' he allowed the school to send him to, he had gotten over his feuds with a former student years ago and no longer chased the illusions of the 'paranormal'. This was pointless.

And yet he still found himself in the same rickety wood chair, sitting in the same dinky room, staring at the same depressing counselor. Nothing changed anymore. Nothing excited him, nothing interested him, nothing angered him, nothing saddened him…nothing roused any feeling in him anymore. Many of the crackpot teachers there feared nothing ever would. Except for counselor Dwicky.

"Soo…" Amber eyes avoided brown as he spoke the soft word. "Why exactly are you still counseling 'problem children'?" That quoting motion of the fingers that the teenager favored so much made a grand appearance with his right hand as his left brought the cigarette to his thin lips. Dwicky stared at the ceiling before taking a drag off of his own smoke and sticking a pencil in the foam above him with a swift toss. He found himself reeling again. Little boy eyes staring up at him questioningly. Little mind running rampant about aliens. Little hands clutched at his side with frustration. Little understanding as to why no one listens…

Memories that had been long buried moments ago dug themselves back up. It was unfair how he wanted the boy so, and yet the teen was oblivious to such feelings. Oblivious to the man's need to be recognized by the teen; to be acknowledged by the teen; accepted by the teen. . . .Words built at the tip of his tongue, threatening to cascade out in a torrent of emotions. But cemented they stayed as he fully processed the boy's question.

"Well…that's hard to say now." His brown eyes never left the ceiling, and amber gaze followed the line of sight to the collection of pencils stuck in the foam of the ceiling. The teen reached out gently with lithe arm, slender fingers clutching the eraser of a pencil from his coffee can. Dwicky's eyes watched him the entire time out of the corner of his eye, and watched on as the boy expertly stuck the pencil next to his owns in the abused surface.

"It isn't 'to help the children'…?" The boy's questioning gaze watched him from a half-lidded glance, that quoting motion of fingers appearing again. Dwicky snorted, a smirk coming to his features. That excuse had left him like the middle skool had. Like all those troubled kids had. Like that little boy with large dreams had…

"I don't think so, somehow." Dwicky turned his head lazily to face the student, a half-empty look in his eyes. "At some point I stopped caring," he dead-panned, reaching into the bowl of jellybeans, his horrible sweet-tooth acting up again. Thin teenage lips peeled back in an amused and almost sadistic grin.

"You? Not caring? That's hard to believe." The boy laced his fingers and reclined in his uncomfortable chair, closing those accusing eyes. Long eyelashes stood out against such pale skin and Dwicky found himself staring shamelessly at the boy's soft face. When those eyes fluttered open, the counselor averted his gaze, instead focusing it on the clock on the wall. Time had somehow managed to slip into an hour and a half over the allotted length of time he had with the teen and he stood to usher the boy out of the room.

"Well, Dib. Seems our time has run short." A pleasant smile crossed his face as the teenager stood, putting out his cigarette and walking out the door. "I look forward to our next little meeting." Dib raised a hand to cut the man off and left without a word.

Dwicky, exhausted and far more drained than he needed to be, closed the creaky door and sat down in his office chair, his face hiding in his hands. His somber gaze stared at the chocolate milk that sat on his desk for a while before reaching out with long arm to grasp the handle of the ceramic cup. He brought the glass to his lips, sipping at the warm liquid and stared at the bowl of stale jellybeans, his mind reeling with memories. Memories of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Dib's feet lead him to that familiar establishment that could barely be called 'home'. He stopped and stared, dropping his cigarette on the cement and crushing it with the heel of his leather boot. A lazy gaze watched the first window for any sign of life. None, as usual.

Walking up the cobblestone drive, he wasn't surprised to find Gaz's car missing from it's usual spot in the cluttered garage. She was always out. A plethora of friends that never had a dull moment in their life, drinking, dancing and fucking the night away. What did surprise him was that Gaz wasn't pregnant. Yet.

His hand clutched the cold brass handle and he pushed the old door open, stepping onto dirty peach colored carpet. Crumbs and remains of toast were resting on the counter while the skeleton of a chicken still sat on the table from the previous night's dinner. Already flies hovered, covering the meat disgustingly and scattering as he approached the table. It was annoying how no one cared anymore. 

Removing the offensive meat from the table and dropping it into the trash, he plopped down on the white leather couch. His father had an obsession with white. White or damn near it. Everything he could get in white, he'd get in white. Counters, tables, refrigerators, microwaves…fuck, he had a white coffee maker.

His hand fumbled with the switch on the little appliance, waiting for the black liquid to brew so he could wake up more, though he really didn't want to. Waking up meant facing the reality of life. His sister hated him. His father hated him. Their neighbors hated him. The kids at hi skool hated him. It almost depressed him. Almost.

Mixing in one part milk and one part sugar, he sipped at the warm liquid, a half-lidded gaze staring at nothing in particular but the cracks in the white tiles on the kitchen floor. Life was pointless. So pointless and…tiresome. Always tired. All he ever wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn't. He hadn't slept in days and for good reason. It was like a…self-made insomnia. Coffee had been his friend for years now, sleeping maybe 18 hours a week total. He didn't care about his grades or his performance, so sleeping wasn't necessary. Which was good.

He hated sleep. All it brought was nightmares and fairy tales. Though there wasn't much a difference for him. His good dreams were bad and his bad ones were worse. He'd dream that the world hated him and were locking him up deep away from the outside. He'd dream that he was in an insanity asylum, the Crazy House for Boys, with all those other crazies. Piles of pills, sneering looks, shadows everywhere…taunting and teasing him, causing more nightmares. Not a single helping hand was present. All there was were pills and injections and padded walls. And those were the 'lighter' nightmares. His 'good' dreams consisted of lies; his father loving him, his mother still there, his sister half-way looking up to him. He'd have millions of friends. All lies.

He layed back on the couch, his mind wandering freely over everything about life he hated. Maybe he should write poetry. His 'acquaintance' wrote poetry all the time, and it helped him get over his problems. It made everything less…clustered and cluttered. Maybe poetry was a good avenue to head down.

Amber eyes glanced towards the basement as his father came out of the dark room for the first time in months, seemingly distraught and lost in his own home; a sight which rarely graced itself in his presence. The old man's eyes fell on the teen reclining on the couch still dressed in all of those heavy clothes, even his boots, and sighed.

"Son," came his serious voice, which Dib barely recognized, and watched him for a few moments. "Son, I want you to meet Alex, an assistant of mine." Gloved hands gestured towards a smiling scientist standing at his father's side. The man bowed and approached the teen, a hand outstretched. Dib just watched the hand lazily. "Get to know him well, son. Go upstairs and pack your things." His father seemed disorganized and in a rush to do something, but all that registered in the teen's mind was 'go pack your things'.

"What…why?" Dib slowly sat up. He set the coffee cup on the table, not caring to find a coaster first. "What's going on, Dad?" His father hoisted him off the couch and pushed him towards the stairs. He simply stood there and stared at his father.

"Get going!!!!" his father shouted, pointing at the stairs and Dib simply walked up them, his eyes wide in more shock than fear. He looked about his room, wondering what was going on. He began to slowly gather his things, leaving them more in a pile on his bed. Trench coats, shirts, pants, extra pair of boots…He didn't own much. He had just started unhooking his computer when his dad threw a few boxes into the room.

"Dad…" The teen watched as his father began to head back downstairs. "DAD!!!" Dib followed, his rage slowly rising at his dad's failure to answer. He grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of him to turn him so they were face to face. "What the FUCK is going on?! Why do I have to fucking pack up? Where the FUCK am I going?" Old eyes simply stared at him.

"You are going to live with Alex. You are going to live with him and get out of my life. Gaz is with a friend of hers and you have no friends. So you will live with Alex. Alex will keep you taken care of. He'll keep you in school. You'll be good." With that his father left, leaving the little boy that used to be his in the care of some strange man.


	3. Chapter 3

He leaned back in his chair, his mind slowly processing what he was just told. Dib Membrane would be moving to a different neighbor hood and school district so he would no longer be seeing him for counseling. A frown came to his lips. He couldn't do anything about it, but it still upset him. He wasn't moving for a few days yet, they still had a few more sessions, but after that…

Sitting up, he began to dig around in his desk drawer to find that package. It was supposed to be for the boy's birthday, but he wouldn't see him when he turned 17. He'd give it to him today, while he had an hour to see his expression. Pulling the blue wrapped box from the drawer, he placed it on the desk, taking the card off of the top. He didn't need a birthday card when it wasn't his birthday. Opening the envelope, he pulled the 100 dollar bill from the card and slipped it in between the wrap job. He could, however, keep the money he was planning on giving him.

The boy was always in the same outfit. When he had asked, the teen told him he couldn't afford anything else. He sold his old clothes so he could by that outfit and his father paid for the food and nothing else. He said that Gaz was the only one with an allowance because she was top of the class, so he had to make due with what he had. It had taken the man a while to save up enough to be able to give him that much, but it was worth it if it brought a smile to his face…or at least a different outfit for him to wear.

The familiar pale face of the boy he tried to coddle pushed it's way into the room, shutting the door behind himself. He looked tired, his eyes had large bags under them. The second thing he noticed was the bruise on his neck, which he noticed Dib trying his damnedest to hide. The frown on his face deepened in concern, but he wasn't going to ask yet.

"Afternoon, Dib." Dwicky laced his fingers together, setting his hands in his lap and leaning his chair back a bit. "And how are you?" He watched the boy sit down in the chair across from him without a word, not evening lifting his head up to acknowledge the older man. He shrugged once, weakly, but didn't do anything else.

"Don't get all counselor on me. I don't want to deal with that shit right now." Dib looked up at him, a barely noticeable scowl on his face. Dwicky stared back into those lonely eyes and simply smiled.

"Alright. Smoke?" The man pulled the cigarette pack from his pocket, offering it to the boy. His frown reappeared when the boy refused the offer for a more appealing action like staring at a wall. Pale fingers reached up to gently scratch and pull at the peeling paint of the musty room.

"I'm moving…" Dib gave a small side glance to look for Dwicky's reaction. He was given a nod. "To a whole different town and everything." He kept his gaze on the man as he received another small nod. A scowl crept onto his face as he began to scratch at the paint a little harder. "I won't be seeing you anymore." Another nod. He pulled his hand back from the wall, standing up to loom over the man, his hands slamming onto the table.  
"Don't you fucking care?!" Dwicky looked up at the boy, a small sad smile on his face.

"Of course I do, but you told me not to get all counselor on you. And, as a counselor, it's my job to care, whether it's genuine or not. But yes, I care very much that I won't get to watch you anymore." The man stood to meet the teen's gaze. "I care very much that I won't have you here with me anymore. I won't be able to admire your features from afar, laugh at my sick jokes that only you get, won't be able to speak with you again." Amber eyes stared long and hard into the man's own, trying to understand what he was just told.  
That's when the boy snapped. Standing strait he let out a yell, pulling at his hair and hunching over.

"GOD!! FUCK HIM!" He turned around and kicked his chair over as hard as he could, the wood giving a satisfying crack. "Fuck him, fuck him, FUCK HIM!!!!" His arm swept across the desk, knocking everything off. The stale jelly beans littered the floor while a mug shattered against a wall, papers flying everywhere. Dib fell over, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with tremors of sobs. They were quiet, but they were there.

Dwicky made his way around after catching the box and placing it back on the table to kneel beside the distressed boy. He cautiously reached his hands out, placing them on the boy's shoulders and pulling the small form against himself, rocking him like he would a small child. They sat there like that for twenty minutes, the man making soft comforting noises and the boy crying uncontrollably.

"I have a present for you…" The deep voice of the man caused the teen to raise his wet eyes to look at him, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to stop the sobs. Long arms reached up and snatched the box from the desk, placing it in the teen's lap. Dib looked down at it for a while before reaching up to gently unwrap the package. Inside was a long black trench coat. Amber eyes lit up at the sight as he stood up. Stripping out of his old one, he put the new one on excitedly. It was nice and form fitting, not too tight but not too loose either. The sleeves had buckles decorating them from cuff to shoulder, as did the front and back. A large hand reached out, grabbing the teen's pale hand and sticking something against his palm, closing the small fingers around it. Dib opened his hand and found himself staring at a 100 and a small piece of paper. The paper had Dwicky's address and cell phone on it. His gaze rose to stare at the man.

"Thank you." It was slow and very hesitant, but as the man smiled and nodded, Dib wrapped his long arms around him, pulling close. It didn't last too long as he started feeling a bit uncomfortable, but the man didn't seem to mind. And when Dib looked back at Dwicky's face, lonely tears were in the man's brown eyes, even as he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

A lanky form made his way down the street, a fashion magazine in hand. He flipped through the pages idly, his eyes half closed in disinterest. His right hand reached up from the pages to straighten his tie as the wind whipped it around restlessly. Reaching up, he ran gossamer fingers through raven hair, sighing discontentedly. It didn't make sense anymore. The pads of his fingers ruffled through the glossy leaflets, frowning at all the subliminal messages that one simply photo could send through a young child's mind if the parents weren't careful or didn't care enough. The councilor instincts still hadn't left him, even after 3 lonesome years of dissonance. He had retired himself to be an artist, painting his feelings of desolation many times, over and over again in endless repetition. Rolling the publication, he put it under his arm and pushed his way through the revolving door that lead into his art studio's building.

He nodded curtly to the secretaries, avoiding their love-stricken eyes as he made his way to the elevators. His office, his studio, was on the fifteenth floor and he had to sit through knee-high amounts of mush to get there. Sighing discontentedly as the doors finally shut, he leaned back against the far wall, admiring the silver trimmings the building's owner decided to add. His studio had been left alone, per his request, but he had been funded the money for any renovations he desired. His back straightened as the elevator stopped, indicating another passenger. His muscles tensed as a tall man walked in, his hands behind his back as usual and ego written all over his facial features.

"Morning, Dwicky." Came his deep voice. The smaller man nodded, reopening the magazine he had been reading earlier. "Isn't it a little early for you to be at work?" He leaned a little closer to the shorter man, his intentions clear as always.

"I wanted to get to work on my newest painting right away, before the inspiration left me, Elliot." Dwicky replied, his muscles stiff with apprehension. Elliot often made very clear his intentions. He wanted the retired councilor in bed. With the man's looks, he didn't blame every woman in the building to wantonly swoon over the well-built man. But he didn't swing that way. He much preferred the pleasures of a woman over the domination of a man.

As Elliot's mouth opened to reply to Dwicky's remark, a cell phone rang. Dwicky, thanking whoever was calling, picked up his cell, his brown eyes glancing down to the caller Id.

His breath caught in his throat.

Membrane, Dib. Cell.


	5. Chapter 5

His hand slammed down on the button for the top floor, cancelling his earlier request for floor 13. He watched the numbers raise impatiently, jumping slightly at the ding of the elevator. Dwicky pushed the doors to the elevator open the rest of the way, his feet pounding against the hard tiles of the floor as he dashed down the hall. If this really was Dib...he wanted to talk somewhere more private than the elevator or the office. The roof would be a perfect place to talk. Stalking up the stairs as quickly as possible, he rounded a corner and ran the rest of the way towards the door.

Outside it was raining. Pouring down from the sky with claps of lightning and thunder every once and again. Checking to see that Dib was still on the line, he flipped open the cell phone, placing the reciever to his ear. He hesitated.

"Hello?"

"...Dwicky...?" His eyes widened as the meek reply was heard. It was definately the boy, but from the sounds of it he was in no shape to be talking on the phone. Or talking period. "Are...are you still there...?" The hoarse voice questioned wearily.

"Y-yea! Yea I am." He stood there, one hand hanging limply at his side, the rain water dripping from his slender finger tips as he stared out at the murky horizon. "What...what's up?" His voice kept hitching. He was nervous. Why would Dib be calling him after 3 years of no contact...and why in such poor condition?

"...Good." A sigh. "...Are you busy at all...?" 'He's holding his breath.' Dwicky's gaze fell to the concrete below his feet, his eyelids drooping slightly.

"No, not at all. Why?" He had to keep his voice steady. He had to keep his emotions in check. It was such a sudden shock that he had called that he was felt as though he was ready to cry.

"..." Another sigh. "Can you...come and pick me up...from here?" Dwicky could tell he was far from coherent. Not to the point of hallucenation, but his voice sounded...distant.

"From where, Dib?" He waited for an answer, the silence eating at him.

"Alex's...I can give you directions..." Dwicky could hear tears in the boy's voice and his face fell. No matter how nice it was to hear from Dib again, he couldn't stand to hear him like this. "Dwicky...I really need you to."

"No problem Dib, no problem." Dwicky fished his keys back out of his pocket, his free hand brushing the soaked bangs from his eyes. He began heading back towards the door. "What...what happened?" He waited patiently for a response, his throat tightening as if afraid to find out why the boy was near tears.

"..." The silence barred down on the both of them before Dwicky could finally  
pic up the choked sobs coming from the boy on the other end. "C...can I tell you ...when you get here?" Dwicky frowned. He wanted to know now so he was prepared.

"I suppose." Closing the door to his black Pontiac, he turned the ignition on  
and waited, keeping the reciever close to his ear. "Okay, Dib. How do I get there?"

Following Dib's careful instructions, he soon pulled into a gravel driveway and his gaze fell upon a broken down house, many of the windows seemed to be shattered. Chairs and other various articles of furniture littered the lawn and Dwicky bit his bottom lip. This was not good.

Stepping from his car, he cautiously approached the house, opening the door quietly and slowly. He leaned in and was amazed at the shamble the house was in. It was such a mess. Now he worried.

"Dib..?" He called, his head dipping into random rooms. In the back room, what could be considered a workshop, lay a battered Dib. One hand held his cell phone meekly to his head, the other lay limply at his side. Bruised and bloody, soft amber eyes shifted to stare at the man in the door as lithe fingers let the cell phone fall to the ground, his arm quickly following. Long strides brought the man to the teen's side and his slender arms lifted Dib up and held him there as Dwicky assessed his wounds. "...Dib."


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm fine!! Will you stop fussing already?" The boy shooed Dwicky away from him yet again, thwarting all of the man's attempts at properly dressing his wounds. "I'm injured, not crippled." Dib frowned, wrapping on of his many gashes, and blushing deeply.

"You still haven't told me what happened," replied the man courteously, stifling a chuckle at the boy's bright face. "So?" He looked at him, holding out a few bandages. Dib stopped and stared at the floor before raising his gaze to face the older man towering over him.

"Well...from what Alex told me before they took him...I'm being chased by an organization that's...after my dad's intelligence and DNA." He paused, seeming to sort things out in his head. "The...ELL Organization." His eyes raised to the ceiling.

Dwicky's brows furrowed in confusion and concerning. The Ell Organization? He sat back on his haunches, fingering his goatee as he processed this information. He'd heard of it somewhere...

"Anyway," Dib's eyes traced away from the grimy roof as he continued working on his wounds. He looked back to Dwicky for a moment, hesitation apparent on his face. He held his breath a moment before easing into his next barrage of questions. If he placed his words right, he'd get what he wanted... "What have you been up to?" He snorted. "Still counseling at that dinky little excuse for a skool?" Dwicky stifled a laugh.

"Haven't changed much, have you Dib?" In all honesty, neither of them had. Dib was still hating the world and Dwicky was still trying to find out why. "No...I'm actually an artist now." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head lightly. "No matter how hard that is to believe. I have my own studio." He looked away from Dib and helped with a wound the boy was having particular trouble with.

"An artist?" Dib stammered. His face fell in disappointment. If he was an artist, he'd probably be rich. Hell, if he had his own STUDIO he had to have some money. Which meant he probably didn't want to deal with a kid like him anymore... "Crap," came his whispered curse.

"Hm?" Dwicky looked back at him. "What's wrong?" Dib shook his head and managed a half smirk, encouraging him with a hand gesture to go on about his life. "...well...I've been dumped 7 times," Dwicky started, looking thoughtfully at the broken lamp, trying to decide exactly what else there was to say. "...I got a bigger house near the Square in town...and that Pontiac outside." He pointed a finger out the window at his car. "But nothing more than that." He looked back to the teen in front of him.

"I see..." Amber eyes stared out the window. "So...what exactly are you going to do now?" His gaze drew back to the man questioningly. "And...where am I going?" Dwicky held his gaze, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Well...if you don't mind...I was planning on taking you back to my house." He sat there, his nimble hands working on a small scrape on the boy's knee. "And from there...I'm not sure. Was there something you had planned?" From Dib's heavy sigh, he guessed not.

"No...I don't have any family left, as far as I know." He stood up lightly, wincing but over all steady. "Shall we...?" He began a slow and lopsided trek to the car out front. Soon, however, his voice was captured by a surprised squeak as Dwicky lifted the boy off his feet. "Dwicky!!" His face reddened in a slight blush and he attempted to hide his face under the collar of his coat. Setting the small boy in the front seat, Dwicky slid into the car himself, placing his hands on the wheel.

"You need rest, Dib." He pointed at the boy before turning on his Pontiac. "Just sit back." He pulled out of the driveway and onto the empty road, trying to remember how to get home. "Just sit back and relax." He smiled and drove back to his home.

Arriving at his driveway, he leaned out the window and punched the code to open the black gates in the keypad. He sat back and slowly took to the driveway. The teen's eyes widened as they fell on his house. It was...not that much bigger than his old one.

"This...is bigger?" Amber eyes gazed over the dinky little house. He looked back to Dwicky, staring into his pale blue eyes, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Just look around for a moment. Sure the house is small," Dwicky gestured to the surround topography with his hand, "but I don't think my 30 acres of land is." Following the man's gesture, Dib's eyes widened as his line of vision skimmed over the rest of the man's property. 30 acres of beautiful field and meadow. There was a small wooded area that was hidden behind the house, an orchid on the left, a barn and fenced in area for animals on the right, though there were no animals inhabiting it now.

"It's..." The boy couldn't find the words to describe the place as they parked in the garage. Dwicky turned off the car and withdrew the keys, setting his hands on his thighs and sat there, staring at the wheel.

"...amazing?" He chuckled, turning to look at the boy. His pale features were more defined in the dark of the garage, the shadows thrown upon his face contrasting and clashing with his near white skin. He looked much older than he actually was and Dwicky could only melt at the sight. Hold his composure. Opening the door, he stepped out of the car and made his way to the passenger side, gently lifting the boy back out of the Pontiac, closing the door with his hip. "I hope you don't mind leather seating."

The garage opened up to a warm colored living room, the walls tinted amber much like the boy's eyes. There was a single black leather loveseat, positioned in front of a small but tolerable TV. There was an open kitchen and dining room, a hall that seemed to lead to the bathroom and bedroom, and a deck out back. He set the boy on the couch, smiling.

"I'll let you explore later, after you've gotten some rest." Dwicky chuckled lightly, looking around at the den. He made his way to the fireplace that was tucked away in the corner, lighting and stoking a fire to warm the house. "It's not to tacky for you, right?" The humor could not be kept from his grin as he came to sit beside Dib, who just shook his head, his amber eyes darting around the room.

"No, it's fine." He sighed, leaning back against the cool fabric, shutting his eyes tiredly. He sat up in surprise when his glasses were removed from his face however, his eyes whipping around to stare at the man beside him.

"Sorry, sorry." Dwicky waved his hands dismissively in front of him, setting the boys glasses down on a side table. "I simply wanted to give you a chance to rest and I'm sure sleeping with glasses on isn't very comfortable." He set down a pillow on the couch, moving to give the boy stretching room. Sighing, Dib gladly took the invitation, burying his face in the soft pillow and curling his legs up onto the couch. Dwicky sat there for a few moments, watching the boy sleep before smiling and standing. He needed to make dinner. He was hungry and he was sure the boy would be too by the time he actually woke up.


End file.
